[21]. Mercure of ——, A. D. 1678.
Neither the complaints of the one nor the elegies of the other were of any effect. Every body followed the court.[[22]] Thou, O celebrated Mithon, whose name merits an honourable place among those of the illustrious men of thy country, thou alone hadst the resolution, amidst thy shaved countrymen, to let thy long beard remain, and to preserve it entire till thy last breath. May thy name, O Mithon, passing down to posterity, be always pronounced with rapture! may the most famous Academies propose thy elogy in emulation of one another! and may it be repeated there, in the most philosophical tone, that thou hadst the courage to appear like a man amidst a people of beardless boys.[[23]]
[22]. Marshal Bassompierre said, that all the change he found in the world, after passing twelve years in prison, was, that the men had lost their beards and the horses their tails.
[23]. The last that wore a long beard in this city was Mr. Richard Mithon, bailiff and criminal judge of the county of Eu, who lived at the beginning of the last century, and died about the year 1626. Mercure for January, 1732.
Thus ended the reign of the beard in France. Notwithstanding the prejudice which exists at present, this mark of manhood has not lost its influence. Whenever a foreigner appears in France with a long beard, he not only attracts admiration, but likewise the confidence and respect of those that see him. A Genevese, called Liotard, is an example; he knew very well how to make an advantage of this ascendancy, which gives an imposing appearance to people greedy of novelty.
He was a portrait painter, and had lived three years at Constantinople, where his talents got him to be sent for by the grand seignior to come to the seraglio to draw the pictures of the sultanesses: he followed the dress of the Orientals, and, consequently, let his beard grow out, with as much less reluctancy, as it hid the deformity of his face. On his return to France, he resolved to retain his Levantine dress, and after this manner appeared at Paris in the year 1752. He soon perceived that he had no reason to be displeased with his whim. His dress and beard served him much better than his talents, to raise him above the crowd. It is easy to imagine the eagerness of the Parisians for this extraordinary man. The infatuation was universal; his name soon reached the court, where he was sent for at length to draw the portraits of the late king and the royal family, and where, in a short time, he made his fortune.
His talents, less astonishing than his dress, did not consist in the beauty of the colouring, but in the art of taking the most striking likenesses. The marchioness of Pompadour was hurt at the scrupulous accuracy of our painter. As she gave him one day a hundred pounds for a portrait which he had just drawn, she made use of these precious words, which ought to be written in letters of gold in the history of bearded chins: All your merit consists in your beard.[[24]]
[24]. This anecdote was given me by a friend of the painter’s, who knew him at the time he wore his oriental dress. He since adopted the French usage, in order to comply with the ardent solicitations of his wife, who was a Parisian.
It was likewise through favour of a long beard that a young Frenchman, about ten years ago, preached a new doctrine in Arabia. He assumed the name of Arphaxad Tinnagelli: his quality was, that of disciple of J. J. Rousseau, on a mission in Arabia. His oriental dress and prophet’s beard concurred particularly to gain him proselytes.[[25]]
[25]. Mr. M——, in his journey to India by land, met this enthusiast at Bassora, the 15th of August, 1770, who asked Mr. Pyrault, the French consul in that town, for a guide to conduct him through the desert. He was returning from Surat, where he had resided sometime with Mr. Anquetil de Briancourt, likewise a French consul. “This Arphaxad Tinnagelli,” says Mr. M—— in the manuscript account of his journey, “is a young man of about twenty-eight years of age, of middling stature, and seems to have the Lorrain accent. He gives himself out for an Arabian, born at Eliatiff in the gulf of Persia; he has written a romance, in which he has not shewn a more happy invention, than in his Arabian name. Notwithstanding his beard and dress, we soon discovered him to be a Frenchman, which he at length acknowledged. Having made himself pretty well acquainted with Arabic, he has written several things in that language, among others, a catechism called Tinnagellique which begins thus: Who is God? The truth. Who is his Prophet? J. J. Rousseau. It was thought at Bassora,” continues our traveller, “that he had quitted his pranks entirely; and, on his promising to return to India and live as he ought, Messieurs Pyrault and Rousseau (the Persian, cousin to J. James) made him up an European wardrobe: he came with me as far as Mascata; but I could not get him any farther, and I left him quite disposed to go and complete his mission.”